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“Fuck…” I mumbled, then immediately took control of the situation. “Get out, get out. Quietly and stay out of view of the window.” I kept my body language calm and non-threatening. I didn’t want the sniper to pull the shot before we had a chance to clear the room. I was more concerned for my brothers and the innocent civilians who were trapped in here. I wasn’t worried about taking a round directly. I wore my helmet and my armored plates. I’d been shot before and survived. It only took a few months of physical therapy, and then I was right back at it with my team. But explosives were a different story. Those would make a bloody mess out of all of us if I didn’t keep my cool.
The civilians crawled along the wall toward the door. They did their best to stay out of the view of the window. Even the man with the tourniquet on his leg was pulled behind two others. I spared a glance behind me to see that my team was at the bottom of the stairs, ushering the civilians to safety, probably out a back door and out of view of the sniper.
When the room was cleared, only I and the vested man occupied the space. I started to ease my way toward the stairs behind me. My footsteps were light, my movements slow, and my gun was aimed in the direction of the window. The sniper was the more immediate threat. If the man with the bomb wanted me dead, he’d have already lifted his finger from the switch.
I thought through my options instantly. If I shot the man in the vest, I’d be killing myself anyway. I’d be blown up by the blast. If I somehow survived that, I highly doubted that the sniper would let me get very far. I kept my gun trained in the sniper’s direction. In two more steps, I’d exchange fire and then take cover. The man that stood between us never stood a chance.
I heard the silenced shot penetrate the shoulder of the man in front of me. In a matter of seconds, he would release the button. He’d be dead and hit the floor, and he’d lose his grip on the detonator. Another shot connected with the man, and my face was covered with the man’s brain matter. I turned my back toward what was left of him, and I threw myself down the stairs as the explosives detonated. I was engulfed in hot air and flames as I went hurling down the stairs. I felt the heat of the flames against my uniform, and it was nearly unbearable. It felt like being roasted alive as I flew toward the sun. The two seconds I flew through the air abruptly came to an end. My head bounced off the floor, and I went lights out.
??
I woke up startled by the dream, suffering from a hell of a hangover. My empty whiskey decanter sat on the coffee table in front of me. I didn’t even make it to my bedroom before I fell asleep.
Fuck, that was a lot of liquor, but I needed it. I got terrible news this evening—one of my battle buddies passed. Gone to Valhalla. I’d known him since basic training. I hadn’t seen him in years, but I still greatly felt his loss. I could still see him joking behind the drill sergeant’s back and getting caught. His quick wit and sense of humor cost him a lot of sit-ups and push-ups.
I was thrown through a loop at the reappearance of the bad dream. It’d been a while since I thought of the explosion. I guessed the brain worked in mysterious ways. My near death was now linked in my mind with his death.
I stared down at the tattoos that covered my arms and legs. They covered up a majority of the scarring. Most people never knew it was there, hidden under the ink that covered me. The tattoos could only do so much. There were some injuries that were more difficult to cover up. The PTSD caused from another man’s brain splattered across your face or the bomb that almost killed you right after was just one of those things.
What bothered me the most might not be that another man’s life was needlessly wasted, but that TV and movies glorified what we did, what we went through. It was almost never as it was portrayed by cameras and actors. This was real—it was dark, and it was endless. The actors got to slip back into their own personalities when the film stopped rolling. They got to stop pretending to have the illnesses that plagued most combat veterans and those in similar jobs.
I rose from my spot on the couch and moved my empty decanter to the kitchen sink. I grabbed my phone from the counter and trudged back upstairs. I had a letter I needed to write to my buddy’s family, and then I needed to pack for a flight.
CHAPTERTWO
abby
“That was excellent work, Abby. I know the undercover assignment was longer than expected.” He clapped me on the shoulder in congratulation. “Doesn’t matter now, you got through it. That’s what it takes to be a good agent, the ability to adapt,” my boss, Special Agent Bob Dempsey, told me. He always gave an unwanted wrap-up after we finished an assignment. This was the seventh one, and it was just as annoying as the first.
We’d worked together for several years, and I was quickly stepping out from under his shadow. By his words of praise—which were far and few between—I earned his respect. I felt a strong sense of satisfaction from being good at my job, even if it meant listening to a long-winded monologue.
His silver hair caught the light, making it look white. The twinkle of pride showed in his eyes, proof that he meant his words. This was the first time he caught me alone since I returned from my last assignment, infiltrating and bringing down a human trafficking ring.
“It was just part of the job.” I gave a casual shrug. My suit jacket was a little tight around my shoulders, and it restricted my movement. It was the same response I gave after every wrap up. I enjoy the praise, even when it was sandwiched between annoying bits of monologue. Although I’d never tell him that.
“Yeah, but the lengths you go to is much more than most female agents tolerate. We’re not talking about being shot by a suspect. What you do has the potential to be more emotionally scarring.” He was absolutely right. We all made an oath to serve and protect, but most agents had boundaries they operated within. I was different. It was why I was recruited in the first place.
“Are you okay? Do you need to seek any counseling?” he asked. His face softened, and so did his tone. It was the same question he always asked after every mission was complete. I could tell that he genuinely cared about my well-being, and that touched me. He was a rough-and-tough guy. Most people never saw the softer side of him.
“It was no big deal.” Like always, I played it off. “I’m just glad to be back to a normal routine. That’s what helps me the most.”
I did my best to block out the memories from my time undercover. The disgusting, vile men I slept with weren’t worth any of my mental space. In my waking hours, I did a pretty good job of keeping them from my thoughts, but my dreams were a different story. I would take that secret with me to the grave. I didn’t want or need anyone at the bureau to think that I was weak—it was already hard enough to be a female special agent. I had so many challenges to overcome, but I did it. I couldn’t just lie down and give others more ammunition to make me seem inferior. There were several agents who wanted Bob’s job when he retired, but I was the strongest candidate because of my work. I had to remain the perfect agent; I needed that position.
“You should really consider seeing a therapist again, even if it’s just one more visit. What you witnessed, it was pretty bad. I know someone who has an organization who helps those who are victims of trafficking and sexual abuse. She has a team of psychologists on call. She could get you a visit with one of the best therapists in the country. Obviously, it is all anonymous,” he offered.
“Bob, I told you, I’m fine. I’m glad to be back. I just want to move on.” I made direct eye contact and kept my breathing even so that he wouldn’t know that I was lying. He nodded his head, and then he began pushing my buttons again.
“You know what you need?” He began pacing the room. My anxiety level spiked. Bob Dempsey’s pacing never meant good things for me.
“What do I need? Besides an extremely large cup of coffee.” I mumbled my words. He cornered me before I got my first cup. He was lucky I’d made it this far through the conversation.
“You need a vacation.” His suggestion came with a mischievous smile. He stopped pacing and leaned against the desk behind him. He crossed his arms and stared at me, the grin growing even wider. It wasn’t predatory or creepy—which I was very familiar with; it was the grin of a man with a plan. One he couldn’t wait to put in motion. I knew that grin very well, and I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off or nervous.
“No, I don’t,” I responded dryly.
“Let’s not call it a vacation then. Let’s call it a tropical assignment.” His smirk had me narrowing my eyes in suspicion. Tropical was not our jurisdiction. The most water in my region was usually the Pacific Ocean. Occasionally I was tasked out to the East Coast, but nowhere tropical.
“What are you up to?”
